


Beautiful

by Aly_Winchester



Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF, Norman Reedus - Fandom, Real Person Fiction, Sean Patrick Flanery - Fandom, The Boondock Saints RPF, Walking Dead RPF
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Angst, Drug Use, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Flandus - Freeform, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Out of Character, Prostitution, Self-Hatred, Stranger Sex, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 13:19:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2623187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aly_Winchester/pseuds/Aly_Winchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a long time now, Norman Reedus has been stuck in a job he hates, one he's deeply ashamed of. But it's the only thing that gives him enough to keep his head above water and not wind up sinking down on the streets. He's very proud if his apartment and his ability to pay for it all by himself, and he plans on keeping it awhile longer. Still, he loathes his nights working at the <i>Crystal Filter</i>, a club made for men to come see the dancer of their choice (man or woman), and even get a little extra on the side if they so wish. When Norman gets a new client by the name of Sean Flanery, he stupidly falls for the older, richer man immediately even as he's used for the man's purposes. Or so he thinks. Sean seems so much different than every other man there, even his friends, and he just can't help but let himself get caught up in the whirlwind of the forbiddenness of those feelings. After all, it's just wishful thinking that Sean likes him back...right? [HIATUS]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New Client

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! This story is very AU and very very different. The idea popped into my head, and I needed to write it. _Please_ take the warnings seriously, I know it's not everybody's cup of tea, so I don't want anyone uncomfortable with these things to read and be triggered. Also I know I archived it as "rape/non-con," but as you can see from the tags it will only be mentioned, not written out, just to clarify. But anyway, to those who do read, thank you for doing so, I appreciate it! Comments are love!

As always, the routine for Norman Reedus's night began promptly at eight o'clock PM. Wake up, shower, shave, dress, catch a bus to the club, change, and finally climb on stage. He took up as much time as he could before he actually reached the place; he wasn't exactly eager to be there. The club actually opened at about seven o'clock, but Andy never made him get there that early. For reasons Norman couldn't figure out, he had been on demand a few times lately and Andy said it was better to arrive fashionably late and leave them waiting and horny--they'd pay more money that way, apparently--then to give into their eagerness. Norman didn't want to give into them at all, late or not, but it wasn't as if he had much choice in the matter. It was his job; that was the end of it. 

The first night in the city was the day he met Andy. He was escaping from New York City after a particularly bad breakup and LA just seemed like the place to go to get as far away as possible. He didn't need Jon finding him and dragging him back into that atmosphere. He wasn't worth much, but he knew (although it took some time) that he wasn't worth all of that pain and heartbreak. Dumping Jon and moving was the best thing he ever did, and he would never regret that, no matter what kind of life he was leading now. 

Shameful, embarrassing, revolting... Those are feelings he felt every single day since he got the job at the _Crystal Filter_. This wouldn't be the first club of the kind, but it's certainly the first he ever worked at. In fact, he had never even entered one before Andy took him there to get the job. See, this is a club for men (sometimes even women) to go and view the man or woman of their choice dance for them, most with little to no clothes, and they had the choice for further services if they so wished. Every dancer there knew that it was a possibility and they weren't allowed to deny them lest they be fired. Norman sure as hell couldn't afford that, and so when the rare occasion appeared that somebody actually wanted to take those next steps, he swallowed his pride and bile, and did was he was paid to do. 

The dancers didn't share their real names, of course. Norman went by the name of Murphy to some clients, Daryl to others depending on who he felt like being that day. Murphy was Irish and sarcastic and was more the submissive type, while Daryl was the complete opposite, Southern American and completely dominant. It made Norman wonder if he even really existed anymore, or if Daryl and Murphy were taking over. Andy said it was good that Norman wasn't himself anymore (Andy can talk from experience, his Rick appears more often than Andy himself does) as it saves himself from worrying about silly issues like shame and embarrassment. And maybe it does while Murphy and Daryl were there, but as soon as they--and the client--left, he was Norman again and he would cry to himself on the way home, wishing that he could find an actual nine to five job and live a cookie-cutter house like every other American. 

But those dreams were too far out of reach, and he knew that he would never see them again. Jon dashed those, and this was all Norman had left of himself. 

His attire always consisted of tight, dark black leather pants with black boots, and depending on if Daryl or Murphy wanted to show, either a black leather vest with angel wings on the back to match (Daryl), or a peacoat unbuttoned at the front (Murphy). It also sometimes depended if they client had any preference, at least some of his (few) regulars did. At least it allowed Norman to lose himself for those few precious hours. 

Finishing up by running a hand through his thick, messy hair, he glanced down at the vest and pants he now wore. He always came to work in his own clothes so he could just keep his dignity and his pride there, but once he was let out in front of the club, that just completely vanished. Staring at himself, he wondered if one day he'd be like Andy and be comfortable with who and what he was, enjoy it actually, or if he'd wind up drinking himself to death in a ratty motel room.  _Last one sounds pretty nice,_ he thought wryly.

"Norm! You're here!" Andy's voice echoed through his thoughts and dashed away anything he had been focused on. The man's British accent still managed to bring a soft quirk to Norman's lips (it was very attractive, after all), and even though he could see the younger man in the mirror before him, he turned his chair to look up at him. Andy was dressed in his usual sheriff's uniform and Norman's smile widened a little further. Had they not been co-workers, and Andy his boss, he probably could see himself cozying up to the man. He was very attractive, accent aside, and despite everything he treated Norman like a human being. Something Jon did not do in the entire seven years they were together. He liked the other men and women he slept with more than he liked being with Norman. So Norman let him have them.

"I'm always here," Norman said quietly, the usual tone of his voice. Andy once told him that if you heard him talk outside of being Murphy or Daryl, you never would know they were the same man. He was quiet and a bit shy, reserved and very very...well, not weak, but you won't see him winning any arm wrestling contests anytime soon. He oozed confidence in his job, but outside he was more than a bit of a klutz and a book-worm, an artist without a purpose. He spent his days when he couldn't sleep painting and taking photos out his window of the life below that he didn't feel he deserved to be a part of. He was just fine in his own little apartment away from the hustle and bustle of the streets, away from the prying and judging eyes.

"Daryl, huh?" Andy asked, leaning against the vanity beside the one Norman sat at. He shrugged and looked down, his hair falling in front of his eyes.

"Feels like a Daryl night."

Andy chuckled at that and put a hand on the fake gun hanging by his side. Sometimes Norman wondered why Andy still did this since he now owned the club. He bought it from the old owner about a year before Norman arrived in LA. But if Andy liked it, Norman wasn't about to stop him. At least he enjoyed his work.

"Well get ready. New guy for you today." Norman tensed just a little. He mostly got male clients, but that also meant he got mostly douchebags and jerks. Murphy tended to come out more in those cases; most clients didn't like Daryl's dominance. Now and then Norman would get a woman, but they were bad tippers. It was either dance for groping men, or dance for less money. Either way, it fucking sucked. He made a mental note to find another job, and then another mental note to put a big red X over the first one because it'd never happen.

"Should I change?" he asked, knowing Andy knew of the issue. There had been more than one time Andy and some of the bouncers had to pull men off Norman and out of the room because of Daryl, whether Daryl fighting back, or just because they thought they could have more when they didn't pay for it.

Andy shook his head. "Nah, just go with it. If he seems like he'd prefer Murphy, then change, or do Murphy next time." Norman looked down and shrugged.  _ **If** there's a next time, _he thought. A lot of his regulars seemed to be disappearing. There was a new guy, Florian or something like that, and he was straight off the plane from France. A lot of the regulars from Norman, Andy, and the others seemed to go straight to him. Six foot five, muscles bigger than Norman's body, and a cock bigger than his forearm; it was easy to see why, Norman couldn't live up to that. _  
_

"Why didn't you give him Florian?" he asked, a little bitter, and Andy gave him a look.

"He requested somebody like you," Andy said, and Norman knew, though it was unspoken, that Florian was also booked for the night. 

"If you say so," Norman grumbled. Finally he stood, running another hand through his hair and straightening out his pants. No belt of course, made things easier. Andy stood with him and clasped him on the shoulder.

"If it gets too bad, Florian's gone. Just say the word. You're my friend, he's not. He's replaceable, you aren't." Andy gave him a real smile and for once, Norman gave him one back. Because yes, Norman had a friend in Andy, and it felt nice. 

"But won't you lose money?" he asked, his voice confused even as warmth from awkwardness and from friendship bloomed in his chest.

Andy shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Sometimes it's worth it."

"Thanks," he murmured, looking down at his feet and clearing his throat awkwardly. Andy's hand slipped from his shoulder and he nudged Norman towards the door that lead to the private rooms gently. "What room?"

"Five," Andy said.

"Name?"

Andy shrugged. "All I know is Sean." Norman thanked him quietly and went through the door marked  **PRIVATE** on the client's side.

The back rooms were just for high paying clients, and the only rooms Norman worked in. There were two different parts to the club: the main room where any Joe Schmoe could walk in and have their horny, hungry gaze on some man or woman in taking off their clothes; and then the back rooms, that were lined in velvet and satin couches, a single pole in the center, and cost about ten times more than it did to get into the main room. Norman was, somehow, considered to be more "fine art" than those that worked the main room. He, Andy, and Florian were the only three out of fifty dancers who didn't do a show. Not that he was complaining, of course. One or two (sometimes three) pairs of eyes on him was enough, he didn't need hundreds.

Another part of the club was the bedrooms. They were upstairs and only for the guests that paid to have extras after the dance was completed. Andy had to approve it first, and one of the bouncers showed them upstairs while the dancer took a couple minutes for a breather. Norman used that time to scrub as much of his skin as he could before he had to be touched. Never were clients allowed to go to the dancers' private homes, that was absolutely forbidden by Andy. Not only for the dancer's safety, but also because he lost out of money that way. Yeah, he was a little selfish, but he was running a business so he had to be sometimes. 

Norman realized he was thinking far too much as it seemed like he was stalled for the past ten minutes outside room five. He heard the soft music from Florian's room a couple doors down the hall. The way it worked is there were two doors to the room. The client went in one and got comfortable, the dancer went in the other to give more mystery and seduction, and it came out behind the pole. For Norman it was more like, being less awkward and clumsy. 

Taking a deep breath, he cast his eyes to the ground and opened the door. The music was already playing, soft and melodic and perfect. He closed his eyes and let it wash over him, let himself feel like he really could be sexy, at least for a little bit. The lights were down low, soft glows around the ground by the pole, creating a mood lighting. Most of the time Norman liked it that way, it was easier when he couldn't see the client and he could pretend that he was dancing alone. But he also felt it brought too much emphasis to himself and that just brought up all the awkwardness he tried to squash down with Murphy and Daryl.

Somehow, after shutting the door with a soft click, his steps into the room were sure and confident. He made Daryl come out, made that Southern boy ooze from every pore, made Norman the one pushed to the back of the mind. He didn't say a word, didn't look at the man he could only see the silhouette of on the silk couch. He just went to change the music to something still soft, but more dance-like. Only he seemed to be able to dance to something quiet, but it's how he liked it. No shaking hips or gyrating pelvis, just the movement of his (somehow coordinated) limbs. 

He closed his eyes again once he was on the small stage, just six inches off the ground. It was a small circle in the middle of the room, the pole stretched up to the ceiling, and the lights were on the edge around it. It was easy to move around the pole and not fall off (because it was embarrassing when he did it the first and only time; client demanded a refund from Andy, and Norman didn't show up to work for the next three nights), and because he was used to it now, he didn't even have to watch his footing. His legs moved around it, his booted feet heavy on the wood beneath him. Turns and swirls, dips and spins. It was his usual routine to the song currently on, and he had a different one for each song. His body flowed between the songs, easily switching from one to the other. 

His skin prickled with the awareness of eyes on him, and that always happened when he started removing clothing, which he never did until at least the second song. Andy said it helped that seductiveness, to make the client want you even more. Plus it kept Norman's clothes on a little bit longer, and he actually particularly liked his clothing on, thank you very much. 

He didn't search out the client as his hips swayed as they had before. He knew he could dance, he'll admit it, didn't mean he liked it or understood why others wanted to see it. The vest dropped to the ground on one side of the small stage, his body taking him around so his back was to the eyes, his knees bending as he pressed his ass to the pole, sliding down until he was almost sitting, and then back up, his hips moving him back around to the front. 

Wearing boots probably wasn't the brightest idea sometimes, but that's what Daryl and Murphy--and actually Norman as well--liked to wear, how they liked to look. Norman never wore socks, though, and while it probably wasn't the best idea, it saved from him standing there like an idiot in a small speedo and his socks. 

The boots did go next, though, kicking them off easily because he didn't tie them tightly just for that reason. They fell next to the vest and he spun around again, this time dipping and dragging the front of his body up, his ass out towards the client. He hadn't even heard the other man move and it was a bit unsettling because normally the client would be trying to put their paws all over him, or muttering about how he was a  _"sexy fucking whore,"_ or some shit like that. But this man hadn't said a thing, and Norman hoped he wasn't completely embarrassing himself.

It took a couple more songs for the pants to come off so he was left in a tight, black speedo, pressing up on his asscheeks and cock to make them look a little bigger. Even so, nobody ever seemed disappointed when they came off. (Jon didn't count.) He never opened his eyes when the speedo came off. His head hung some, his hair falling over his eyes like a curtain to block out the man's figure as he did his dance. They always got the same: two songs, shirt off. Two more songs, boots and pants. Two more, speedo. Three or four more, finish. After that, they would either part ways, or the client would be led upstairs and Norman would get ready for that. Andy hadn't told him of a round two, so he knew that after just a couple more songs, it would be over and this man,  _Sean_ , Norman thought when he remembered what Andy said, would leave. 

 _One_ , Norman slowly counted as the first song after the speedo came off.  _Two._ Just a little bit longer...  _Three._ He was so relieved to hear it start that he almost jumped for joy. Of course he didn't, he just began to sway to the song like he always did, effectively changing from one dance to the next. The more he got into it, the quicker it seemed to go, and before he knew it, the song faded out and he was left standing on one side of the pole, his head down again. 

He wasn't required to talk to the client unless he wanted to, so he silently slid away, his feet moving him over to the wall where a red, silky robe hung on the wall. Apparently it wasn't sexy to pick up your clothes and dash from the room, so he had to wear the robe until the man left, and then he'd go back to get his clothes later. 

It was when he was tying the sash around the robe that he heard the couch move and the man stood. Norman didn't even want to look over, but he knew it would be rude to just dash out of there when the man was trying to say something to him. Perhaps he did want round two after all, or perhaps he wanted to compliment Norman. Or perhaps he just wanted to tell him he failed at whatever the hell dance he was trying to do, and then walk out before Norman could say anything. Yeah, it happened before. 

The man walked into the light just as Norman looked up through the curtain of his unruly hair. He wasn't on stage of course, but he was close enough that Norman could see. Dark washed jeans over strong legs, black button-down over a thin torso and muscled arms. Blue, piercing eyes looking straight at Norman beneath short, dirty blond hair. 

A quick breath got sucked into Norman's lungs because he realized with a start that this man, this  _Sean_ , was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen walk this earth. Graceful, strong. Completely out of Norman's league, enough that he thought looking at him might just sully the beauty he had so he looked away again, his clumsy hands somehow successfully tying the robe closed without shaking. At least now he could hide in a little bit of clothing as he felt like a gooey, lazy mess standing next to this... _Adonis_. 

"Best I've ever seen."

The voice made him shiver, his eyelids fluttering some, before he was looking back through the curtain to the blond man. It was then he realized just what he said and he went an even darker red, his tongue flickering against his lips as he crossed his arms over his chest in embarrassment. He realized quickly that Daryl had left the building and Norman was coming back with a vengeance. He wanted to just run out as no, there was no way he could let this man see Norman, but it was too late as the next couple seconds of tongue-tied embarrassments were all he needed to prove that the confident dancer was gone, and he was nothing more than a man now.

Finally he settled for, "Thank you," his voice its usual quiet and he winced because he sounded like a shy, pre-pubescent girl.

The man smirked and Norman shrank a little, waiting for some kind of insult to come out, but instead the man's hand lifted with a twenty and a ten dollar bill in it. Norman blinked at it as if he wasn't sure what it was. Most tips usually went through Andy, but never had he gotten thirty before. Ten usually, fifteen tops. But thirty? No way was he worth that much, and he wasn't even sure he should take it. But that was rude; the man was trying to be kind, take pity on the poor, awkward stripper that he was forced to sit through. 

Nodding once again in thanks, he reached out to take the crisp bills from the man's hand. They were soft, looking as if he had worked in offices his whole life instead of down and dirty. But that didn't mean he worked hard, by the look of his rolex and his patten-leather shoes, the man had money. Thirty dollars probably was nothing to him, while for Norman it meant he could eat this week, and that alone made him just want to hug the man. Of course he held back and gently pocketed the money, nodding once more. 

"Until next time." Norman raised his eyes in surprise at Sean's words and all he got was another smirk in return before there was a retreating back, a click of a door opening and closing, and silence once more. He stayed still for a few minutes before he went and quickly grabbed his clothes, scurrying back for the private rooms to shower and get ready for his next performance. 

Throughout the night, he had six more dances, and one that ended with a round two. The man used far too much tongue and didn't even bother trying to help Norman at all, not that he really wanted any. But Norman didn't hide his relief when it was finally three AM and he was saying goodbye to Andy, a grunted farewell at Florian's direction, and he was walking out the back door. He quickly lit a cigarette and looked up at the dark sky above him before he started his journey home. The buses didn't run that late, so he was forced to leg it, and he usually didn't get home until about four. But it was nice out, and he walked slowly as usual to try and get touches and looks off his mind so he could actually sleep. Dreaming about these things wasn't exactly on his plans.

Only he did dream about a dance, but this time is was just one man. One man, his touches, and the bluest eyes Norman had ever seen.


	2. Surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so much fun to write, and I don't even care! This goes back to the beginning of the night to kind of show what Sean is thinking, and then next chapter will move onto the next day or so. Thank you, everyone, for reading and as always, comments are love!

The week started out terrible and wound up absolutely horrendous, and apparently the answer to cure all stress in live was strip clubs, at least according to Sean's assistant it was. Sean Flanery had never been to a strip club in his life, he was happy to say. There was always something just so... _ wrong  _ about staring at strangers and watching them take their clothes off. Human beings weren't animals to be stared at and groped, and he refused to let himself get sucked in. For weeks, Clifton had been bugging him to just let himself be a  _ "fucking man for once"  _ and go to this club,  _ Crystal Filter _ , that Clifton suggested. They had both women and men, regular shows and private shows. The mention of private shows and the fact his firm just lost three point four million made him reconsider his stance on the previous subject. 

"C'mon, Sean, it's just dancing, it's not like you have to fuck them," Clifton said. "But you can if you want."

Sean rolled his eyes, standing up to go find a cup of coffee and hopefully just have a bunch of liquor dumped in. Clifton followed him as he usually did, ready to take a command that Sean gave him. Sean didn't particularly like that, that Clifton would jump at any word he said and do it. While it might be nice not having to get his own coffee all the time, he didn't like relying on others or making them jump through hoops like that. His old boss, Troy Duffy, the ex-CEO of the firm who gave it to Sean when he left, said that people like Clifton were hired for just that reason, to be the gophers and the ones that did the "heavy lifting." Still, that didn't mean he had to like it.

"I'm not fucking anybody," he said as he started the Keurig machine to get it warm so he could get his coffee. "There are other ways to relieve stress."

"Yeah, but none of them involve naked people."

Sean sighed again and shook his head. "Not going to happen, Clifton."

The other man just clicked his tongue in disapproval and handed over the sugar and cream to his boss. Sean knew the man was only trying to help, and he appreciated it, but if he needed company like that, he'd just go to a regular bar and pick up somebody there. Nobody in the office knew for sure whether he was gay or not, and he would keep it that way. He didn't want to turn into office drama or gossip; what he did in his private life was just that, private. Some talked of course, but he was quick to squash whatever they said by turning up the next morning with one of the secretaries on his arm. Young, blonde, beautiful, just the way Clifton liked them, but they really weren't Sean's type. Mostly because they didn't have dicks.

He knew it took him far too long to make decisions. It took him weighing out the pros and cons, sometimes even making a spreadsheet or a graph to see it all laid out for himself, and half a bottle of scotch before he finally made the most rational decision that he could. Apparently that was the same for even this issue, and as he sat alone in the large, empty house he bought (for some reason, maybe it was the hot tub) just a year ago, more than half-way through the bottle, he realized that he had to do this. At least to say he had the experience, plus he  _ supposed _  having some beautiful man dance for him and take his clothes off so Sean could watch wouldn't be so bad...

Except he felt like a perv for it, even as the driver followed Clifton's instructions to the club. He was assured he could get a private show, it's not like he didn't have the money for it, but that didn't mean he wanted to degrade the person any further than they already were by staring at them as they got naked just because he was having a bad week. That's what liquor was for. 

"You're not going to regret this, boss," Clifton said with a smirk as they pulled up. Sean paid more than enough to keep the driver quiet that they were there, and gave him another large tip to wait for them so he could drive them home when everything was done. Clifton would be staying out in the main room, only Sean would be going in. Clifton was straight and the only one who knew of Sean's sexuality, so Sean didn't have to worry that this would get out. Sean knew it was wrong to lie about his sexuality, but he also knew some financial backers of the firm would definitely pull their accounts if word was to get out that the CEO liked it up the ass. Or giving it up the ass, whatever felt good at the time. 

"If you say so," he muttered, climbing out of the limo. He shoved his hands in his pockets and ignored anybody who looked their way as he walked in. It was already in full swing, strobe lights making his head swim for a minute, gyrating bodies on the different stages. Two men on one, two women on the other. The customers were mostly men, but there were a couple women sitting around, too. It smelled like alcohol and sweat, making Sean's nose wrinkle. Still, the place itself was nice. Red couches and chairs, black walls and windows, the stage a dark mahogany with golden poles. But he was glad he would be going in the back room, so he didn't have to worry about being spotted. He didn't feel like playing straight tonight and staring at the currently half-naked women on stage one.

He wanted to run from the building, even as Clifton was dragging him there and shoving him for the man at the bar ("he's the owner," Clifton said, "Arthur or something") so he could set up his private show, he felt like he was nothing better than the men who sat around all day staring at women shaking their tits.  _ Just one time,  _ he thought, sliding his eyes over to the owner. Very attractive man, not Sean's type, but attractive nonetheless. He was wearing a sheriff's uniform, which kind of surprised him, but he figured that he did dances as well. Why not, he would draw in a lot of people that way, both men and women. 

"Sean," he said, holding out his hand slightly. The man looked a bit surprised, but the corner of his mouth turned up into a smirk and he shook his hand anyway. "Private room."

"Male or Female?"

"Male."

The other man nodded and poured a glass of bourbon, handing it over to Sean. Sean nodded in thanks and took a sip.

"Ever been here before?" Sean shook his head no. The man's mouth quirked more. "Got a type?"

Sean paused for a moment. Well he really liked this other man's accent, but that's besides the point. "Dark hair, light eyes, about my height, nicely built..." He trailed off, trying to think of the last few boyfriends he had, and none of them came close to that. He never dated a brunette, though that was his ultimate fantasy. Blue or green eyes, nice body, quiet but intelligent. Successful, but that didn't necessarily mean with money. Strong, in every meaning of the word. Perhaps that's why he was still single in his forties, the man he wanted is still out there somewhere. 

"Got just the guy," the man said. He nodded over to the other side of the bar where Sean could pay. "Two hundred for the dance, another one hundred if you want the extras." 

Sean raised an eyebrow. "Extras?"

The man was full-on smirking now, and Sean could see he was trying not to let out a laugh, which made Sean blush a little and he was glad it was mainly dark save for the strobe lights. "Private... _ sessions  _ in one of the bedrooms."

Sean blinked and quickly shook his head. "Ah...no, no extras. Just the dance."

He nodded and Sean handed over the two hundred in cash. The man seem delighted at that and waved over a bouncer. "Boris here will take you to your room. The dancer won't be long." He nodded and then turned to go through a curtain that lead into the restricted area. Sean glanced at Clifton who gestured him on before heading over to watch the woman, and Sean followed Boris to the back room.The room also had red satin couches in it lining the walls. There was a small table in each corner, and Sean sat close so he could set his drink down. The only lights on were around the base of the small stage in the center, shining up onto the pole. His eyes adjusted soon enough and he sat comfortably, his leg crossed over the other, and his foot bounced some as he waited patiently for the other man to show up. He was nervous as he didn't know what to do in this type of situation. 

The music was already playing and he was staring at the mouldings on the ceiling (indicating that it was an old building) and how intricate they were when the door across the room, the one he didn't enter through, opened up. He saw a figure slip through and he shifted in his seat. The music changed to something more dance-like and Sean fidgeted again, clasping his hands in his lap. 

_ Well the man was spot on,  _ was his first thought as he saw the man step onto the stage. His second thought was,  _ fucking gorgeous.  _ His eyes widened as he didn't quite expect to be seeing someone who looked like that dancing before him. It was like every fantasy he had appeared through that door right out of his dreams. 

The movement of his hips, swaying gracefully in front of him had him biting his lip. He didn't even so much as notice as the leather slowly dropped away from his body, he just noticed the way he moved. It was like he was a natural at being so seductive, at capturing the attention of those around him. Sean knew he probably couldn't see past the lights, but something in Sean wanted him to just look over and see him. 

Because he was fucking beautiful, and Sean wanted the attention from him.

He didn't realize he held his breath through the whole thing until it was over, and the man was suddenly back in the shadows by the other door. He hadn't move the whole time, hadn't said a word. When he saw the whole body revealed, he knew his own had awoken in a way it hadn't since he had last seen Isaac, his last boyfriend and his biggest mistake. Break-up sex was always worth it, but that was going on two years ago and Sean still had yet to get laid since. He didn't want to be some guy who got his rocks off to watching strangers dance, but he couldn't help it, the man was just so... _ different _ . It was almost like he didn't belong in this club, in this job, in this world. 

Standing slowly, his heart racing, he walked over closer and into the light surrounding the stage just as the man looked at him. Those eyes...brightest blue he had ever seen, and staring at him through a rain of dark brown hair. Sean's fantasy was so coming true, and it made his head spin.

Shoving a hand in his pocket, he found whatever cash he had left after paying earlier, and brought it out. 

"Best I've ever seen." Immediately he regretted the words. It made it sounds like he frequented these types of establishments, which was so far from the truth. His foot lived in his mouth apparently, but he didn't let that confident smile fade. It was easy to fake it, he made a career out of it. 

The man seemed much less confident off stage which made him even more endearing than he had before. Sean was almost regretting not taking the extras, before he held out the money. He almost seemed confused, but he did take it, murmuring a "Thank you." Sean smiled again and glanced at his feet quickly.

"Until next time." Was that just a promise to come back? He turned and managed to escape the room with his head high instead of running out like he wanted to. He didn't want to go back, it wasn't his scene, but something in him said that he was going to see this man again. He grabbed Clifton on the way out and made their way out to the limo that still sat outside.

Sean called Julie, his secretary, and made sure that the conference call to Japan was all set up. He just wanted to jump right back into work and forget about this whole ordeal, even though he wanted to see the man again. He didn't know his name, but that didn't matter. 

Once he hung up, Clifton was smirking at him. "What?" he asked, his voice defensive making Clifton laugh. 

"You liked it," he said, smug.

Sean muttered something that sounded very close to "fuck you" to his assistant who laughed again. The little fucker was right of course, but Sean didn't want to admit that. He forced himself not to think about the dancer or the club once he got back to work. This was a different world, and he wouldn't bring them together. He made a mental note to never go back to that club, because he didn't belong there. 

But whatever he tried, he still couldn't thinking about those eyes staring at him through a veil of dark hair.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this isn't as long as the first one, but it should pick back up next time!

**Author's Note:**

> Wow I probably had more fun than I should've writing this chapter. I hope you guys enjoyed! Sean will be next chapter, stay tuned, and again thanks for reading. :)


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